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EARLY POEMS, 



ANNIE WHITTIEK ALMY 



AFFECTIONATELT 



DEDICATED TO HER DEAR SON, 



IN THE FAR WEST. 



::-'.7VGT0^ 



BOSTON: 

PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR 
1866. 






Entcrod accon^ing to act of Congress in the j-ear 1866, 

BY ANNIE WHITTIER ALMY, 

In tlu' Clork's Olllce of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



1-1 xfS 




PREFACE. 



In presenting this little work to the public, I ask my 
friends to consider my circumstances, and make allow- 
ance for Its defects, that they may, according to the 
Christian precept, have that charity which covers a mul- 
titude of faults. 

I am aware that many of my friends are expecting 
rather more from me. Few persons have passed through 
such a trying ordeal as myself. I do not believe a par- 
allel can be drawn. I Intend to publish the remainder 
of my poems at some future day. 

1 can say with Coleridge, " poetry has been to me Its 
own exceeding great reward. It has soothed my afflic- 
tions, it has multiplied and refined my enjoyments, it has 
endeared solitude, and It has given me the habit of wish- 
ins to discover the o-ood and beautiful in all that meets 
and surrounds me." 

The Author. 



POEMS. 



THE FLOWERS OF EARLY SPRUNG. 

Father, I thank thy bounteous hand, 

That feeds my little store, 
That calms the waves by thy command 

And stills the ocean's roar. 

The birds may sing their joys to tell, 
The woods their echoes ring, 

And these are things I love full well, 
The flowers of early spring. 

The sun may shine to warm the path 
Of weeds as well as flowers, 

The sparkling rivulets may dart 
Amid life's sunny bowers. 

But round my heart the shadows fly, 
My children young and gay, 

Have ceased their once melodious song, 
In spring-time of their day. 



EARLY POEMS. 

And care has gathered on the brow, 
Where once were sunny smiles, 

And in their plays I see them now, 
Usurp a vain disguise. 

And angels hover o'er their path, 

Seeking with love to win, 
And keep them from the tempter's dart. 

And shield them from all sin. 

When will the curtain lift o'er all. 
These clouds of darkness rise, 

And satan bear his funeral pall. 
And throw off his disguise. 

When mountains rend beneath our feet, 

And vanish out of sight. 
And God in mercy thinks 'tis meet. 

To send his heavenly light. 

Then like Paul on Damascus way. 

Before him we shall fall, 
And humbly for deliverance pray. 

From sin and sorrows thrall. 



HOPE. 

Oh ! where is the bosom so sweet and so dear, 
Where my heart can recline without sorrow or fear. 
Where the robe of affliction with brightness is sj)read, 
And the sunlight of pleasure beams gently o'erhead. 



E A ELY POEMS. 

Oh ! much have I sought thee the wide world around, 
Like a dove with a leaf, when the waters abound, 
Yet no answer I've got from the far-distant shore, 
Save the sound of the tempest, the ocean's wild roar. 

Yet hope is my anchor that shields me from harm, 
My angel of mercy mid life's ruthless storms 
And together unheeded we sail through the mist. 
Till we reach the true harbor, the haven of bliss. 



MY ABSENT BROTHER. 

Oh, would that I might wander 
O'er mountain, hill and dell, 

And find my absent brother, 
I loved so dear and well. 

He was my dear companion 
In childhood's early hour ; 

He went with me in ecstasy 
To pluck the wild-wood flower. 

Oh could I be an eagle 
Or with his pinions soar, 

I'd go to many a foreign land 
And every scene explore. 

Or if I were a humming bird. 
Perchance that I might tell 

If he were in some sunny land, 
Where birds and flowerets dwell. 



EARLY POEMS. 

Or fell he on the battle field, 

Mingled with fury's gore ; 
Or died he on the ocean 

Far from his native shore. 

Oh, answer me, ye winds, 

That play with sportive mirth 

Among the leaves and flowerets, 
Around the social hearth. 

Is there a lovely maiden 

With lily neck so fair. 
That calls him her dear lover, 

And wanders with him there ; — 

Or has he on the frontier 
An humble peasant's home, 

Where the white man seldom wanders, 
And none but Indians roam ? 

Oh, would that I might wander 
O'er mountain hill and dell. 

And find my absent brother 
For I know I loved him well. 



A LITTLE LAMB IS MISSIMG. 

A little lamb is missing, 
From its mother's gentle breast ; 
Among the gathered lilies, 
She has found a quiet rest. 



EARLY POEMS. 

Though earthly hopes have faded, 
The shadows flee away ; 
By angel spirits lighted, 
So broke the heavenly day. 

Why should we weep in sorrow ? 
That lamb is now divine ; 
She has seen a glorious morrow, 
Among the saints to shine. 

Oh ! dry up all your tears, then, 
And never more complain ; 
But seek a loving Saviour, 
And meet her once again. 

Beside those flowing waters. 
In fields of living green. 
She never more can languish, 
Though ages roll between. 



LITTLE CHILDREN IN HEAVEN. ; 

We know with them there are no tears, 

We know they have no gloomy fears ; • \ 

Arise, my soul, shake oft' thy clay, j 

And soar to realms of life away. ' 

Behold a flock of lambs divine, 

In Heaven enjoying their spring time, i 

And if a mother they should meet, \ 

Methinks they'd nestle at her feet. | 



10 EARLYPOEMS. 

With harp in hand and wings of love, 
They'd tell her of their joys above ; 
Oh ! glorious happiness to meet, 
Our little lambs at Jesus' feet. 

We know they've past the gloom of death. 
We know they feel a Saviour's breath ; 
Oh ! better far their lot than ours, 
To bloom and grow in heavenly bowers. 

Then let us never more repine ; 
A few more sands and we may join 
Those heavenly ranks by Jesus wrought, 
A feeble thing the human heart. 



TO A FRIEMD IN MOMENTS OF AFFLICTION. 

Down in the bottom of the sea 
Lies many a treasure bright ; 

And when afflictions come to me 
My sins are always light. 

My inward sky is overcast. 

My singing birds are gone; 
The sun is hidden from the bowers 

And hushed is every song. 

Yet still I know the sun is there 

And shineth ever bright, — 
Only dark clouds of grim despair 

Have veiled it from my sight. 



EARLY POEMS. 11 

They hang so heavy o'er my way, 

And pealing thunders roll, 
I hardly know when it is day, 

They chill my very soul. 

But faith with gentle eye is near, 

And hope like a fair maid, 
Holds out her hand amid despair, 

To give me every aid. 

Then like the spring-time on the sod. 

Bright llow'rets shall arise. 
And lift our grateful hearts to God, 

Like evening sacrifice. 

The glorious sun once more will shine, 

When darksome storms are o'er ; 
Our songs will be far more divine 

And sweeter than before. 

The gentle zephyr's cooling breath 

AVill kiss all tears away ; 
And what seemed once a living death, 

Will be a brighter day. 



ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER. 

Dear mother, how we missed thee. 
When the first gray morning dawned, 
When my brother stooped and kissed thee, 
Amid the weeping throng. 



12 E A R L Y P O E M S . 

And ttere the pale moon shining 
On thy cold and lifeless clay, 
Seemed like a friend repining 
At the mournful break of day. 

Say, didst thou know we loved thee 
In that young and careless hour ? 
Deep feelings now come o'er me 
Of thy tenderness and power. 

It was not in the summer 
That they bore thee slow away, 
But in the dreary winter 
On a cold and snowy day. 

I remember it with sadness 
Though I was then a child, 
I remember well thy gladness 
And thy pleasant sunny smile. 

Doth thy gentle spirit hover 

O'er life's tempestuous sea, 

Hast thou followed me when wandering, 

Hath thy spirit been with me ? 

Oh, I love thee, gentle mother, 
Thou my guardian angel be ! 
Whenever I am in trouble. 
Then I love to think, of thee. 

Though more than twenty years have past, 
Since thy angel spirit fled. 



EARLY POEMS. 13 

Yet hope and fear alike have cast 
Their shadows round my head. 

I planted by thy grave a stone 
Full many years ago, 
Marked with a weeping willow 
And a paragraph below. 

And there I loved to visit 
And shed alone my tears, 
Thinking of joys once tasted 
O'er many bitter years. 

Dear mother when I languish 
And lay me down to die, 
May thy sweet spirit bear me 
In safety to the sky. 

There the cares of life are ended, 
There the peaceful billows roll. 
There the beauteous skies are blended 
With the beauty of the soul. 



AND STILL THE WORLD GOES ON. 

I saw an old man on his bier. 
The funeral passed with solemn cheer ; 
Then all was still, the grave they closed. 
They left him to his last repose. 

And still the world goes on, goes on. 



14 EARLY POEMS. 

And next I saw a little child, 
With sportive accents meek and mild ; 
She died, then passed the same sad train, 
With melancholy notes again. 

And still the world goes on, goes on. 

And in the busy, crowded street, 
I see the forms of young and gay ; 
A melancholy train they meet, 
And each alike pass on their way. 



0!N RECEIVING A RING AS A PRESENT FROM A DECEASED 
FRIEND. 

Sacred memento, I shall prize thee well. 

Can thoughts or language break the magic spell, 

I have not seen nor heard the voice, 

Of her who made this ring her choice. 

But oft I've fancied on some wide domain, 
A cottage reared with love's encircled chain, 
Perchance, some flowers with trees appear in view. 
With squirrels chattering in the morning dew. 

May be the reaper with his scythe appears, 
A warning of the change of coming years. 
Perchance, a maiden in her shroud is laid. 
With weeping friends around the grave arrayed. 



EARLYPOEMS. 15 

Or o'er those lulls may be the shepherd's horn 
Is heard afar, waking the early morn ; 
Or the pale moon is rising up me sky, 
Telling of nights and years that are gone by. 

While with a qwiet look thyself and wife, 
I fancied all exempt from toil and strife ; 
And on the stand methinks I well may say, 
The Bible tells of many a well spent day. 

Dost thou* remember me when I, a child. 
Once played upon thy knee with rapture wild, 
Smoothing thy brow, perchance a story told. 
Made thee seem dearer to my heart than gold. 

And now farewell, this treasured ring shall be 
A relic of aunt Julia's love for me ; 
I would for thee, loved garlands here entwine. 
And fondly take thy trembling hand in mine. 

SQING. MY MARY FAIR. 

I love her laugh, her merry laugh, 
From a heart so warm and true, 
And the flowing curls on a lily neck. 
And her sparkling eye of blue. 

ISly Mary fair, she came 

Over the hills away ; 

I will tell you her sweet name. 

For she will not always stray. 

^ — 

* My uncle. 



16 EARLY POEMS. 

Oh ! I love my Mary fair, 
When she comes to me over the hills, 
With the dew upon her hair, 
At the fountain her pitcher she fills. 
My Mary, fair, she came, 
Fresh from the meadows so green ; 
And I tell you her sweet name, 
Like the merry lark she is seen. 



THE LAST KISS. 

The chills of death were on her brow, 
The damp was on her cheek. 

Her tears had long refused to flow, 
And tongue refused to speak. 

Yet there she lay in loveliness. 

My darling babe so dear ! 
The form I had so oft caressed, 

Was bathed with many a tear. 

And in the midst of misery. 

She lay upon my knee, 
With lips compressed as if to kiss. 

She fixed her eyes on me. 

1 bent my head in agony, 

It was her last fond kiss ; 
A few more groans and spasms here. 

And then she went to bliss. 



E A R L Y POEMS. 17 

OUR LITTLE ONE HAS LEFT US. 

Those darling little feet are still 

And silent is that voice ; 
Those sparkling eyes are closed in death, 

That made my heart rejoice. 

We mourn, we can but mourn, 

The shadows round me fly ; 
To think when I am all alone, 

My little girl should die. 

In the cold earth we laid her ! 

Sweet little form to rest, ' 

But she like a star hath risen, , 

In the mansions of the blest. 

There like a new-born angel, 

Forever she will sing i 

Praise to our great Redeemer, J 

Heaven's high, and holy King. I 



MY BABY, I 

There never was a sweeter face, i 

Than that I often see ; I 

'Tis pleasant, crowned with every grace, 

And always clings to me, i 

My Baby ! ] 

2 I 

1 



18 EARLY POEMS. 

Scarce lias six months around her flown, 
Since she was what I called my own, 

With dark blue eyes and skin so fair 
With any lily would compare, 

My Baby! 

But I've not told her name as yet, — 
It was my dear Mabelle Jennette, 

A pearl more precious ne'er was seen 
On ocean's bed or India's Queen, 

My Baby! 

The sweetest little dimpled cheek. 
Her face so mild and, O ! so meek, 

That all who see it stop, and look 
As though it were a pretty book. 

My Baby ! 



THE FOUNTAIN AT NEWPORT. 

Oh I where is our beautiful fountain. 
With its sparkling waters bright, 

The joy of the rosy urchin. 

And the farmer's great delight. 

Hath it gone like the dew of the morning. 
Will it quench their thirst no more. 

Has it mingled with the Ocean, 
On our sandy, rock-bound shore. ? 



EAR L Y POEMS. 19 

O see them turn in sadness, 

From this our once great prize, 
That echoed forth with gladness, 

'Neath the beauteous summer's skies. 

Oh ! give them the beautiful fountain, 
Let them quench their thirst once more. 

Let man and beast be happy 

When the toils of the day are o'er. 

There is a fountain by the way-side, 

And this my song shall be, 
Though we travel far and wide 

We can quench our thirst from thee. 

See the band of pilgrims coming. 

They shall never more be sad. 
At the pure and gushing fountain. 

Let them be forever glad. 



ADDRESSED TO CLARA JEINETTE ALMY, AGED 7 MONTHS. 

Pleasant thoughts to thee, my baby. 

As I clasp thee to my breast. 
Truly thou art a little angel, 

Soul of happiness possessed.. 

'Tis with rapture that I hail thee, 

For thou never did amiss ; 
As the morning light appeareth. 

So I pressed thy cheek to kiss. 



20 EARLYPOEMS. 

Sun of pleasure sliineth on thee, 
Winds of mirth around thee play, 

And thy mother watcheth o'er thee, 
With unwearied care by day. 

When I lay thee on thy pillow. 
And softly hushed thee to repose, 

Then I think that thou art dearer 
Then the sweetest blooming rose. 

Rosy sweetness blooming round me, 
Smiling 'neath my daily care. 

Surely ought I not to love thee, 
Since thou art so truly fair ? 

Yes I fondly hope that ever. 
As thou livest day by day, 

Thou will truly love the Saviour, 
And his great commands obey. 

May thy brother and thy sister. 
Never teach thee to do ill ; 

May they shun the road to evil. 
And thy Mother's prayer fulfil. 

Who is dearer than a mother. 
Who so well thy wants supply, 

But it was the blessed Saviour, 
That did in a manger lie. 

Thus I sang to thee my baby. 
As I viewed the setting sun, 

Surely thou canst not forget me, 
Now thy higher life's begun. 



E A R L Y P O E M S . 21 

ADDRESSED TO A TEACHER. 

O do not take the children's toys, 
And throw them to the winds away, 
Remember life has many joys, 
But all are destined to decay. 

But rather lay their treasures up, 
However trifling they may seem, 
They may rejoice a bitter cup, 
And throw around a sunset beam. 

The brook that drinks of every spring, 
May to the mighty ocean swell, 
And kiss the shores of many a king. 
And leave behind its parting knell. 

Those little forms that round thee twine. 
Are heirs of a great home divine ; 
We all make up a mighty sea. 
That through eternity will be. 



ADDRESSED TO MY ELDEST DAUGHTER. 

Now, my daughter, thou art budding 

Into years of womanhood. 
Let me find thee ever learning, 

Ever striving to be good. 

Now, my love, thou hast a mother. 
There is no such love as hers ; 

If thou ever art in trouble. 

Or by bitter Avinds are stirred ; 



22 EARLYPOEMS. 

Thou canst lean upon her bosom, 
Thou canst trust her feeble sway, 

Like the gentle robin's nursling, 
She can point to thee the way. 

Think not that thy path will always 
Be as free from care as now ; 

We must sow and plough, before we 
Reap a harvest, thee must know. 

Give thyself not up to pleasure. 
It will leave thee cold and bare ; 

But the rock of Christ's a treasure, 
Seek it and his love you'll share. 

Now be built on Christ's foundation. 
Fear not sorrow, pain or care ; 

This life is a short probation, 

Shun the path where sinners are. 



THE GRAiNITE STATE. 

Blest land of my birth, I love thee still. 
Thy rocks and thy rivers, the bubbling rill. 
And the dear hearth-stone with those roses gay. 
Blest visions of memory round me play. 

But my mother has gone to that world of light, 
May father has followed her upward flight. 
And left me here in this world so drear, 
To shed o'er their graves the sorrowing tear. 



E A R L Y P O E M S . 23 

But other sad memories now have come 
Beside those spread o'er my early home ; 
My childhood friends they all are gone, 
And so is the merry wild bird's song. 

Oh ! would I could pluck the violets bright 
From off the bank in the rosy light. 
Or list to the gently murmuring breeze 
As it waves the tops of those lofty trees. 



THE OLD BROWIM HOUSE. 

Have you seen the old brown house, 

With its gambrel roof so gray, ^ 
That has stood the storm of many a year, 

Well kissed by the ocean's spray. j 

i 

The forms that have trodden those well-worn floors, j 

On the records of the past, \ 

Have gone like the fleeting clouds of June, 1 

Or fell by the wintry blast. , 

And time has made his impress there, - 

With the worm, the moth, and decay ; 

While the whistling winds, like the cry of despair, j 

Sound the requiem of their day. i 

And still there is a charm to the old brown house, i 

On the edge of our beautiful bay ; 

Where children have chimed in their merry chorus, j 

And have lived and passed away. i 



24 EARLY POEMS. 

ADDRESS TO THE SOUL. 

Oh ! begone, vain thoughts, begone, 
Nor tempt my soul astray ; 

For the Prince of Peace I yearn. 
In this great battle fray. 

Ye idle words deceive my tongue, 

Like foxes in the vines, 
Or some rank weeds that shade the sun, 

And leave no good behind. 

And thou, vain world, a gaudy show, 
Spread out before my mind, 

Like some great panoramic view, 
Are things we leave behind. 

When Satan comes with cruel dart, 

To tempt my soul astray, 
May Christ, the champion of my heart. 

Preserve me from his prey. 

Sometimes when all these foes attend, 

My faith begins to sink, 
And then, methinks, I see the grave, 

With me upon its brink. 

May peace that's pure be thine, my soul, 

Oh ! never more despair, 
Though sin like a dark sea shall roll, 

The haven still is there. 



EARLYPOEMS. 25 

THE PILGRIM'S SOIVG. 

There is a crown for mc in Heaven, 

And I know it very well ; 
There is a crown for me in Heaven, 

Where saints and angels dwell. 

Where saints and angels dwell. 

There is a croAvn for me I know. 

In the paradise of God, 
Where all good people go, 

And saints have ever trod. 

And saints have ever trod. 

Then, brethren, let us follow on. 

And never be dismayed. 
If all the foes of earth and hell 

Before us are arrayed. 

Before us are arrayed. 

Oh ! let us keep the work in view, 

And never doubting stand, 
Until from Sinai's Mount we view 

The holy Promised Land. 

The holy Promised Land. 



THE GRAVE OF THE POET. 

Who shall sing o'er the Grave of the Poet, 
His long and last farewell ; 
Who shall sing o'er the Grave of the Poet, 
And his own sweet music tell. 



26 EARLYPOEMS. 

Oh ! there let the wild birds echo, 
And mingle their notes along, 
And there the SAveet-spirit zephyr 
Can join in the noble song. 

I will visit the Grave of the Poet, 
And drop for the songster a tear, 
And think what a noble spirit, 
Hath left his frail casket here. 

The sun never shone more sweetly. 
The trees never looked more gay, 
Than when to the Grave of the Poet, 
I wandered so far away. 

And there were the wild birds singing, 
And there was the mistletoe. 
And the very air was ringing 
With their notes of love and woe. 



HOPE OM. 

The bird that sings the sweetest. 

Is often in the bower ; 
From clouds that are the nearest. 

May fall the sweetest shower. 

There is many a tender blossom 
That cannot stand a storm, 

And many a plant so delicate 
You cannot touch its form. 



EARLY POEMS. 27 

Yet all are fed and nourished 

By the same hand divine, 
And to the bosom of the oak 

May cling the helpless vine. 

And pleasure lieth deepest, 

That hath no sin to sting ; 
So flowers may smell the sweetest, 

That on the desert sj)ring. 

There is beauty in the fairest flower, 

And by its freshness given, 
May lure us in temptation's hour, 

Beyond the hope of Heaven. 

And so the broad ways of the world 

ay seem to us alluring. 
But there's a hope, by some deferred, 
That proves far more enduring. 

The narrow way more straight and plain. 

And by our Saviour taken. 
Will prove our hopes are not in vain, 

The rioliteous not forsaken. 



A PRAYER OF THAINKSGIVING. 

We thank thee Father of all good, 
For thy blessings here bestowed ; 
We thank thee for our dally food. 
And bow before thy chast'ning rod. 



28 EARLYPOEMS. 

Why should we mourn for troubles dark, 
Knowing that Thou dost heed our ways ; 
It was thy power that saved the Ark, 
In Thee we trust, Ancient of Days. 

How can we but adore our God, 
And worship Him with great renown, 
For us the wine-press he has trod. 
For us has won a starry crown. 



[NEWPORT FAREWELL! 

Sweet bards of the ocean. 
Sweet bards of the dell, 
Far away I am hastening, 
I bid you farewell ! 

I love you, ye leaflets. 
That play at my feet, 
The shade of your groves, 



And your cooling retreats. i 

Oh ! how can I leave thee, i 

Thou beautiful Isle, 1 

With a face so enchanting. 
My hours to beguile. 

This tie must be severed, '. 

For I must away, j 
And if on these shores 

No more I can stay ; .; 



EARLYPOEMS. 29 

Sweet memory will linger 
Aromid the old mill, 
And oft in my dreams, 
I will visit tliee still. 



MY HOME. 

I have a home, a glorious home. 

Away above the sky, 
Where tears of sorrow are unknown, 

And love can never die. 

Where Jesus dwells in love supreme. 
And God our Father reigns. 

And angels sing the blessed theme, 
Of our eternal gains. 

We may be tossed upon the sea, 
By fortune's stormy Waves, 

And mortal man can disagree, 
'Tis God alone who saves. 

Then I will upward turn my eye, 
To that bright shining shore. 

And think when I am called to die, 
My troubles all are o'er. 

The earth will fade and pass away, 
The sun no more will shine ; 

But in those realms of endless day, 
Lord, make me wholly thine. 



30 E A R L y P O E M S . j 

''THE COMPLAINT." 

The evening shadows lengthen J 
Upon the waters near, 

And the gentle zephyr's whisper, i 

Falls sweetly on my ear. ' 

But o'er my heart a sadness, ^ 

Like the evening dew is spread, 1 

Where once were rays of gladness, ■! 

Is filled with silent dread. i 

Far from my heart a bird has flown, } 

I clasped it gently for my own, I 

Methought 't would cheer my every care, j 

But, ah ! 'tis gone, it is not there. \ 

And so is life, a fleeting show, ' 

Made up of pleasures here below ; ; 

We hope to-day, to-morrow's dawn i 

And all our rays of hope are gone. 1 

"COMVENT BELLS." 

The Convent Bells are ringing I 

Far o'er the dewy vale ; ! 

The merry birds are singing j 

In music's sweetest strain. ] 

And o'er the spotless sky of blue, i 

The angels' chorus rings ; j 

They list, and then they strike anew, < 

Their harp of thousand strings. i 



E A R L Y P O E M S . 31 



But from those gloomy corridors 



Of ever ancient time, 1 



No cheerful voice nor merry laugh, 
Doth break the deep sublime. 

Oh ! say not there is comfort 'mid 
Those walls so damp and gray ; 

For human beings there are doomed 
To pass their life away. 

Oh ! see their pale and haggard face, 

The deeply sunken eye, 
The silent tear, the cool embrace. 

Tell tales of misery. 



OINI THE DEATH OF THE REV. DR. JACKSOM, D. D. j 

Toll ye the bell, toll the bell, \ 

For the righteous has gone to his God ; ' 
Toll ye the bell, toll the bell. 
While ye lay him beneath the cold clod. 

A chieftain has fallen, a hero has gone, ! 

He fell in the battle of life ; '^ 
He joins in the chorus of Heaven's great song, 

He returns no more to the strife. | 

The valiant has fallen, the chieftain is slain, \ 

The cup at the cistern is broken ; i 

We see him no more, but the broad silken chain ' 

Of love he has left as a token. i 



32 EARLYPOEMS. 

Farewell, blessed spirit, no more we shall see 
Thy countenance beaming with grace. 
No more shall be fed from the altar by thee, 
Now left in death's chilly embrace. 

We will think of thee often on Heaven's bright shore, 
Where saints of all ages are gathered ; 
We will think what a welcome thou had at the door, 
When the cord of thy life here was severed. 



MY LOVE. I 

I will come in thy beautiful dreams, love, ) 

And tell of that land away, i 

Where the grass is green, and the flowers fair, ^ 

And the tender lambkins play. ! 

I will come in thy beautiful dreams, love, | 

By the softly murmuring sea, j 

We will walk in the pleasant woods, love, \ 

And think how blessed are we. i 

When the sky is clear, and the trees are fair, I 

And the grass is covered with dew, i 

And the moon shines bright on the midnight air, | 
O then is the time for you. | 

O come in beautiful dreams, love, j 

When I am all alone, , 

And my heart is bursting for thee, love, | 
In the morning's early dawn. 



\ 



EARLY POEMS. 

Come -when the evening breezes 
Go softly murmuring by, 
And every lesson teaelics 
To look beyond the sky. 

Come in my beautiful dreams, love, 
We will hasten to that shore 
Where angel spirits live, love, 
Those regions to explore. 

And on the rainbow there we'll sit, 
And talk of summer hours, 
And listen to the music sweet 
Of those angelic boAvers. 



ON THE DEATH OF MOSES A. CARTLAND. 

Ye will see no signs of mourning, 
Save the solemn, silent tread, 
But the pearly tears are falling, 
O'er the illustrious dead. 

There is sorrow in the household, 
And the heavens proclaim. 
Though 'tis very hard to lose him, 
He has found a deathless name. 

For lo ! his mantle falling, 
An Elisha may arise. 
And his great works performing. 
Exalt him to the skies. 
3 



33 



34 EARLYPOEMS. 

This world and all is ended, 
Life's journey now is through. 
And he with angels' splendor, 
Has bid the world adieu. 

Praise God, 'tis he who giveth, 
And his right to take away. 
And in his mercy heareth, 
His orphan children pray. 

Go consecrate your altars. 
Believe on Jesus' name. 
Then peace will be your portion. 
Eternity your gain. 



COF^POSED Or^ SEEING THE BIRTHPLACE OF JOHN G. 
WHITTIER. 

And am I destined to possess, 
A name by every fond heart blessed ; 
Shall I be sketched upon the wall, 
My name, my parentage, and all ? 

I, like a poor and feeble worm, 

Have felt the piercing wind and storm ; 

I'm like a planet dispossessed 

Of some great sphere of usefulness. 

'Tis not the battle's fame I've sought, 
Nor yet the pearls from India brought, 
Nor a great name have sought to gain, 
With rich and poor, I'm all the same. 



EARLYrOEMS. 35 

They say I am full of mirth as one 
Whose sun of life has just begun ; 
I know my casket holds a gem, • 
To shine in heaven's diadem. 

Though I'm a wanderer doomed to be, 
To sail upon life's troubled sea, 
My skiif was launched upon the tide, 
AVithout a compass or a guide. 

'Twas then a Stranger came in view. 
His locks were long and filled with dew ; 
He cast my anchor in the sea, 
And said he would my Pilot be. 

'Twas then I saw his mangled form. 
His side was pierced, his hands were torn, 
I kneeled before his form so fair, 
And wiped his feet upon my hair. 

He touched me, and he bade me rise, 
He told me things that did surprise ; 
He took me to a banquet fair. 
And then I felt as free as air. 



ADDRESSED TO G. H. R., WHO WAS REPORTED W0U^'O■ 
ED m HOSPITAL AT WASHINGTON. 

I am thinking of thee, Georgie, 
In that dreary, wild abode. 
Where cries of the gallant wounded 
Are ascending up to God. 



36 EARLYPOEMS. 

Can you say I'm not discouraged, 
Though in misery and in pain, 
Do you long to join the army, 
On the battle-field again ? 

How many brave have fallen, 
Their loss we now deplore, 
Their blood, though spilt in honor. 
Still crieth out for more. 

Far over the hills and meadows. 
The cannon's boom is heard, 
Starting from the Avoods and shadows, 
The woodchuck and the bird. 

Can you say I'm not discouraged ? 
Though in misery and in pain ; 
Do you long to join the army. 
On the battle-field again ? 

See the blood with tyrant's blending, 
See the noble hero slain. 
Our country's cause defending. 
On Virginia's verdant plain. 

See the famished wives and children 
Still crying at your door. 
In the midst of want and sadness. 
This war they do deplore. 

We will cheer the gallant wounded, 
Let them never be dismayed. 
Till this horrid war is ended, 
Or we lay in death's cold shade. 



EARLY POEMS. 37 

OUR REFUGE. 

When friends forsake and foes oppress, 
Oh ! may we lean on Jesus' breast ; 
He is our refuge in the storm, 
He'll keep us safe from every harm. 

He my tower and strength shall be. 
My safeguard through life's billowy sea ; 
Then let the surges onward roll, 
They cannot overwhelm my soul. 



THE SILENT INIGHT. 

The silent Night ! what a solemn place, 
When there are no lights that the eye can trace ; 
When the village bells are hushed and still. 
And naught is heard but the watchman's drill. 

The stars are all numbering one by one. 
The laborer's Avork long since is done ; 
He has smoked his pipe and gone to rest. 
May the God of Heaven his labors bless. 

The water is smooth as a sea of glass, 
Where so oft the boats before me pass, 
The moon looks down with a pleasing smile. 
As if the sad hours she meant to beguile. 

She peeps through my window and all is still, 
Where the little ones ramble and roam at will, 
Save the old house-clock on its weary round. 
Still tick, tick, tick, on its Avay is found. 



38 E A R L Y P O E M S . 

And in the East a bright star is seen, 
'Tis Venus, she stands like a silvery queen ; 
She tells of the dawn of another day, 
When the sun shall chase the moon away. 

But, hark ! what sound falls on my ear, 
The crowing cock, 'tis chanticleer, ; 
He wakes to welcome the new-born day, 
To warn the children 'tis time to pray. 

And the rays of light now over the hills. 
Like a message of love my bosom fills ; 
They speak of the glorious rising sun, 
When the Saviour's last great work was done. 

When the angel went down into the tomb. 
And' broke its shade and dispelled its gloom, 
Oh ! glorious sun of the rising morn, 
Dispel all sadness from hearts forlorn. 

Lord, teach us to trust in thy grace and love, 
That we may have rest in thy courts above ; 
No sorrow nor suffering there is known, 
When we have arrived at our heavenly home. 



TO MY LITTLE DAUGHTER MABELEE. 

Though thy path be lone and dreary. 
With the tear-drops on thy cheek, 
And the smiles that would be cheery. 
Of thy desolation speak. 



EARLY POEMS. 39 

Yet the bright sun is above tliee, 
And thy mother's love is there, 
With the smiles of an angel sister, 
Tuning her harp so fair. 

The weeds of life are round thee, 
And thorns are about thy way ; 
May Israel's Shepherd guard thee, 
And never let thee ^ray. 

Though clouds around thee gather, 
With many a threatening storm, 
Be this thy Ahna Mater, 
Protect me. Lord, from harm. 

There is beauty in the tempest, 
For the hand of God is there, 
Wlien the mighty oak is shattered. 
Mid desolation drear. 

When the stormy waves of ocean 
Drive furiously by. 
And the whole sea with commotion, 
Its giant strength doth try. 

Still, through the din and tumult, 
A still, small voice is heard ; 
'Tis not the voice of triumph, 
Nor music of a bird. 

That peace be still my motto, 
Through changing years shall be, 
'T will calin tlie raging billow, 
And smooth life's troubled sea. 



40 EARLYPOEMS. 

I DREAMED I WAS A FAIRY. 

I dreamed I was a fairy, 
And like the rainbow bright ; 
I dreamed I was a fairy, 
And my heart was always light. 

And on the back of the humming bird, 
I would ride among the flowers, 
And hear the songs of the cheerful birds, 
In the pleasant garden bowers. 

I dreamed of the pleasant land of love, 

And fancied I could soar 

To regions of the blest above, 

And the heavenly land ex23lore. 

And here to you some news I'd bring, 
From land of peace and war ; 
Then by the firefly's larup would sing 
And play my light guitar. 



THE STREET MUSICIAN. 

I looked from my window one day, 
And there in the dusty street, 
With her tambourine, at play. 
She stood with her blistered feet. 

I spoke to her from the door, 
And asked her why she strayed. 
She said that her friends were poor, 
And her Ma on a sick bed laid. 



E A R L Y P O E M S . 41 

I have nothing to eat, she said, 
Since the weary night before, 
And at eve, beneath some shed, 
I lay on a bunch of straw. 

Oh ! poor little girl, said I, 
Have you no friends to heed. 
That you wander so far away, 
To supply your mother's need ? 

Oh ! come to my arms, poor girl, 
I will comb your matted hair, 
And give you a cleaner frock, 
And shoes for your feet so bare. 



THE SPIDER AMD FLY. 

I really believe I can catch that fly, 
Said a spider, sure I am bound to try ; 
He went to work, and worked with a will, 
And spread out his net with toil and skill. 

And the fly looked on, and seemed to say, 
That spider expects me to be his prey, 
I am sure I'll not be such a foolish thing. 
As my little life to a spider fling. 

So he whirled away in spirited mirth, 
And flew all around the cosy hearth. 
And lit on the end of the old man's pipe. 
And said there is nothin--- dearer than life. 



i2 EARLY POEMS. 

Meantime tbe spider went into liis cell, 
He had woven his web and done it well, 
And now he was hungry, and tired, and sad. 
Said he, a good supper would make me glad. 

And he looked out sharp for his silken web, 
Whenever it moved, he peeped out of bed, 
Fully thinking some fly would soon be there, 
From which a nice supper he might prepare. 

And the fly was lively, so full of his fun. 
That he flew to the window to get in the sun, 
Though he was so boasting, he got in the way. 
And really did fall to the spider a prey. 

And now, little folks, if you cannot tell 
The moral of this, you must ponder it well ; 
The fly well knew that the net was sj)read there. 
Yet he was so hasty, he did not take care. 



MEDITATIONS. 

I paused amid my varied cares, 

And thought of human life ; 

That seemed a pathway strewn with tears, 

And filled with toil and strife. 

And is there one that I can trust. 
Upon life's pilgrim way ? 
They all seem fickle as the dust. 
And rigid as the clay. 



EAKLYPOEMS. 43 

We smile and tliink that earth is fair, 
And each one hath a part, 
Even the swallow in the air. 
And glow-worm in the dark. 

But selfish man, that hath his ease, 
May hanker after more, 
Nor cares he whom he doth displease. 
If adding to his store. 

Of what avail is luxury, 
Or wealth that's gathered here ; 
We cannot take it hence away, 
Our souls it will not cheer. 



SOLITUDE. 

Sweet solitude, sister of love. 
How humble thou often dost seem ; 
Yet there on thy bosom like Jove, 
The sober and thoughtless may dream. 

Of solitude, sages have sung, 
How enchanting thy verdure appeared. 
When thy veil over Eden was hung, 
And Eve had thy dew-drops for tears. 

Oh ! solitude sweet are the hours. 

When thou hast encircled my feet, 

I have vrandcred mid fragrance and flowers, 

That I might thy symphonies meet. 



44 EARLYPOEMS. 

How pleasing the. grove and the dell, 
Where the wild winds in harmony play, 
WI>ere the birds sing a passing farewell, 
And old friends and lovers may stray. 

Blessed Saviour of sinners oppressed, 
Bowed down with our sins in his grief, 
Sought on thy sweet bosom for rest, 
With solitude, sister, to weep. 



SISTER, I AM IN THE \^^LDERNESS. 

Sister, I am in the wilderness. 
My path is rugged, lone, and drear, 
I see the bright sky over head. 
No sininno; birds are near. 

I am all alone, and I am dust. 
As Israel wandered, so I must ; 
May Marah's waters sweetened be, 
And all my hopes rest, I^ord, on thee ! 

Then if I'm in the wilderness. 
And like the panting roe, oppressed. 
Yet when the clouds in blackness lie, 
I see a rainbow in the sky. 

'Tis then I think of Him who died. 
And on the cross was sorely tried ; 
Then in the wilderness, like me, 
My Saviour's loving form I see. 



EARLY POEMS. 45 

SPRING. 

Spring has come with lior rural boAvers, 
May has been decking our path with flowers, 
The wild birds are busy with leaf and sod, 
And all things proclaim the praise of God. 

Lovely the morning and lovely the eve, 
When the sun is rising and taking its leave. 
O'er land, o'er sea, is its border of gold, 
Oh ! this is the beauty I love to behold. 

The robin is perched on a leafy twig, 
And there he is tuning his merriest jig, 
All nature is happy, ibr sweet May is here. 
The loveliest, happiest month of the year. 

The lambkins are sporting upon the hill side, 
The murmuring brook hurries by in its pride ; 
This is bright spring with her garden of flowers, 
Crowning the maid in her sweet sunny hours. 

Roaming in spring-time o'er meadows of green. 
Twining a wreath I'or our festival queen. 
Lovely one, fair one, come hither to me, 
And we will sit down 'neatli the old beach tree. 



THE LITTLE OP^ES. 

I hear the busy hum 
Of the children's gentle voices, 
Like tlie murmer of the rill. 
Where the lone hart rejoices. 



46 EARLYPOEMS. 

There is tlie gay and laughing Myra 
With her light, fantastic toe, 
And the sober little Mabelle, 
That oft gives my heart a throe. 

And in her sjDortive innocen(3e, 
Annie stands out so fair. 
You will puzzle in her meekness, 
To find a trace of care. 

Yet they are a deal of trouble. 
Indeed, you all must know ; 
A long list of cares and comforts 
On them I must bestow. 

Yet they seem to me like flowerets, 
Blossoming around my y/ay, 
Like the rosy tints of morning, 
Or the sterner tints of day. 

Oh, I would not be without them, 
On this rough and toilsome road. 
Like the never failing compass. 
They point my soul to God. 



S P R I r! . 

Joyous Spring once more is here, 
Loveliest season of the year ; 
See the farmer with his train, 
Bustlinix around the fields airain. 



EARLYPOEMS. 47 

And tlie haughty chanticleer, 
On the highest thing that's near, 
Crowing smartly, seems to say. 
It is Spring, and I am gay. 

Hear the robin's pleasing note, 
On the morning breezes float. 
And the music of the rill, 
Bubbling sweetly down the hill. 

All is lively, all is gay. 
See the gentle lambs at play ; 
When the days of Spring are o'er, 
Then the tide of life runs slower. 

Happy children, not a few, 
'Tis the spring of life with you ; 

Flow'rets bloom about your way. 
In the spring-time of your day. 

When the Autumn leaves are cast. 
Winter comes with chilling blast ; 
Then will age around you spread 
Hoary locks v/ith silent tread. 

Oh ! 'tis blessed then to die. 
If we have a hope on high ; 
There, an endless spring is seen. 
Fields are clothed with living green. 

Far above all toil and care. 
Endless peace and love to share. 
Sweetly on the Saviour's breast. 
Evermore we'll find a rest. 



48 EARLYPOEMS. 

Fathers, mothers, sisters clear, 
Ever round the throne appear, 
Singing praises to the Lamb, 
Peace on earth, good will to man. 



WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY. 

Spread our banner to the breeze ! 
Let it float among the trees, 

Hurrah, Hurrah ! 

Bear it swiftly to our home, 
Let the gallant soldiers come, 
It shall wave o'er hill and dome, 
Hurrah, Hurrah ! 

Let the little children glide 
Smoothly over life's rude tide, 
Let them hail it in their pride, 

Hurrah, Hurrah ! 

'Tis a glorious banner, aye. 
This is Washington's birth-day, 
Let it guide us on our way, 

Hurrah, Hurrah ! 

It shall never sink nor fall. 
Till it is our burial pall, 
List, my friends, and hear it all. 
Hurrah, Hurrah ! 



E A R L Y P O E M S . 49 

Let it ride upon the wave, 
Let it deck the hero's grave, 
It shall triumph o'er the slave, 

Hurrah, Hurrah I 

Liberty it shall prolong,^ — 
Tis the beauty of my song. 
Bless the day when he was born, 
Hurrah, Hurrah ! 



MY MOTHERr 

'Twas in the winter when they laid her lon^r, 
The ground was covered then all o'er witb snow. 
And who could paint that dismal, burial d^y, 
When my dear mother's form was borne away. 

The scalding tears coursed down my wayward cheeks, 
Such language strong no utterance could speak. 
My mudder died, my little brother said. 
When brought, with trembling steps, unto her bed. 

And when the coffin came, so cold and drear. 
They laid her gently on her- burial bier. 
With mournful steps, her form was borne away, 
And many were the tears we shed that day. 

But time o'er childhood spreads a starry sky, 
And fast the merry moments then flit by ; 
But o'er my brow those darksome shadows fling, 
Calling at times for some sad offering. 
4 



50 E A R L Y P O E M S . 

SOMG. THE SOLDIER'S WELCOME AT NEWPORT. 

Welcome to our sea-girt isle, 

Ye soldiers brave and true, 

May choicest blessings on you smile, 

And friendship's joys renew, 

And friendship's joys renew. 

Ye brave protectors of our land, 
Proud sons of Freedom's soil. 
We welcome you, a happy band. 
To rest from all your toil, 

To rest from all your toil. 

'Twas tearful eyes ye left behind, 
'Twas anxious thoughts, and more, 
Yet here again we meet to find 
Those toilsome days are o'er, 

Those toilsome days are o'er. 

But one has gone, yes two have gone. 
And while we welcome you 
We shed a tear amid the throng. 
For hearts so warm and true, 

For hearts so warm and true. 

We kncAv that many a dear hearth-stone 
Would find one vacant chair ; 
We prayed, — and we were not alone, — 
For your protection there. 

For your protection there. 



EARLY POEMS. 51 

For ye did leave your homes, your all, 
For war's dread battle-plain, 
In answer to your country's call, 
And now return again. 

And now return again. 

Go to the bosom of your friends, 
We'll cheer you on your way. 
May heavenly grace on you descend, 
A glorious gospel day, 

A glorious gospel day. 



TO A LITTLE BLIND GIRL. 

Thou cans't feel the flowers, Ella, 
Through those fingers soft and white ; 
Thou can'st smell the flowers, Ella, 
Yet thou can'st not see the liglit. 

And the gloomy hours beguiling, 
I would love to cheer thy way ; 
May thy face be ever smiling. 
Nature's sweetest child of play. 



Lovely little dark-eyed maiden. 
Who would dare a stone to throw, 
Lest it should unheeded hurt thee, 
On thy fair and noble brow. 



52 E A R L Y P O E M S . 

I do love thee, little stranger, 
Pilgrim on thy lonesome way ; 
Jesus' birth-place was a manger, 
And his softest bed was hay. 

May thy soul no cloud o'ershadowing, 
With no sin to stain thy breast, 
See the brightness of his coming, 
In our everlastino; rest. 



FORGIVENESS. 

Away with all hardness, 
As friends may we meet, 
Confessing our sins 
At the great mercy seat- 
May God who forgives 
With a j)itying eye, 
Look down on our sorrow 
And fit us to die. 

Frail creatures we are. 
And but worms it is true. 
Yet God in his mercy 
Creates us anew. 

He gives us a heart 
From all trouble to rise, 
To meet Him in mansions 
Above in the skies. 



EARLYPOEMS. 53 

''MY FATHER'S DEATH." 

Father, we mourn thy loss, 
Our tears are shed in vain, 
And as upon the billows tossed 
Thy bark was rent in twain. 

Why should we mourn now thou art free, 
From pain and sorrow riven, 
A happy lot it is for thee 
To anchor safe in Heaven. 

Peace to thy troubled spirit, peace for aye, 
The angels came and bore thy soul aAvay ; 
Gone where thy weary soul has found a rest, 
Where thou can'st lean upon the Saviour's breast. 

Long may the halo of thy closing scene. 
Around our pathway spread its rays serene. 
Pointing as with a finger unto God, 
Unto the glorious path the saints have trod. 



A GIFT OF FLOWERS. 

Those flowers so fresh and gay 
To my sad heart were given. 
May they around my way. 
Perfume the road to Heaven. 

God's wondrous works they be, 
Dealt out by his kind hand ; 



54 EARLYPOEMS. 

They spread o'er hill and lea, 
And bloom at his command. 



His power alone confess, 
Make us, O God, to know, 
Great is thy righteousness. 



THE TWIN ROSES. 

One morning as I wandered 
Out by my cottage door, 
I saw two roses on a bush 
That never bloomed before. 

The morning dew was on them, 
The sky was overcast, 
And the gentle zephyrs wafted 
Their perfume on the blast. 

And as I gently lingered, 
Before me I espied 
Their leaves in clusters falling, 
All withered by my side. 



INDEX 



Preface, 3 

The Flowers of Early Spring, 5 

Hope, 6 

My Absent Brother, 7 

A Little Lamb is Missing, 8 

Little Children in Heaven, 9 

To a Friend in Moments of AfBiction, 10 

On the Death of My Mother, 11 

And Still the World Goes On, 13 

On receiving a Ring as a present from a deceased Friend, 14 

Song. My Mary Fair, 15 

The Last Kiss, 16 

Our Little One has left us, 17 

My Baby, 17 

The Fountain at Newport, 18 

Addressed to Clara Jenette Almy, aged 7 months, 19 

Addressed to a Teacher, 21 

Addressed to my Eldest Daughter, 21 

The Granite State, 22 

The Old Brown House, 23 

Address to the Soul, 24 

The Pilgrim's Song, 25 

The Grave of the Poet, 25 

Hope On, 26 

A Prayer of Thanksgiving, 27 

Newport Farewell, 28 

My Home, 29 



56 INDEX. 

The Complaint, 30 

CouTent Bells, 30 

On the death of the Rev. Dr. Jackson, 31 

My Love, 32 

On the death of Moses A. Cartland, 33 

Composed on seeing the Birth-place of John G. Whittier, 34 

Addressed to G. H. R., reported wounded in hospital at Wash- 
ington, 35 

• Our Refuge, 37 

The Silent Night, 37 

To my little Daughter Mabelle, 1 ... 38 

I dreamed I was a Fairy, 40 

The Street Musician, 40 

The Spider and Fly, 41 

Meditations 42 

SoUtude, 43 

Sister I am in the Wilderness, 44 

Spring, 45 

The Little Ones, 45 

Spring, 46 

Washington's Birth-day, 48 

^ My Mother, 49 

Song. The Soldier's Welcome at Newport, 50 

To a Little Blind Girl, 51 

Forgiveness, 52 

My Father's Death, 53 

A Gift of Flowers, 53 

The Twin Roses, 54 



Errata. Page 22, 3d line from bottom, should read " My 
father," &c. 

On page 27, 4th verse beginning the 2d line, the letter M should 
be supplied in a part of the edition. 

On page 38, 5th line from bottom, '• Mabelee" should be Mabelle. 



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EARLY POEMS, 



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I DEDICATED TO HER DEAR SON, 



IN THE FAR WEST. 



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